I'm Gonna Stand By You
by angelmira1982
Summary: The last seconds of series finale happened a bit differently.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 01**

Harold couldn't even express by words how he felt the moment the doors closed behind him on the roof. Earlier that week he said goodbye to Root. She was killed in the process of saving him. They didn't have a chance to grieve properly. The risk of ending up like Root was too great. Danger was waiting for them behind every corner.

He said goodbye to his Machine few minutes ago. She would sacrifice herself for the greater good. She did everything to protect humanity, as he had patiently taught her and she would destroy Samaritan for good.

Harold had no idea where Sameen Shaw, or detective Fusco currently were, he could only hope they were both somewhere safe. The missile was on its way to destroy the building. They couldn't be anywhere near. At least he hoped the Machine would warn them and help in any way.

He grabbed the railing on the stairs and stopped thinking about the missile. His focus needed to be on the stairs and how to climb down them with his limp, when every step was spreading pain through his hips. He didn't want to think about the wound in his abdomen. It was bleeding and hurting.

Harold focused on the stairs. He had to managed several floors and get to safety. It was his mission given him by John. He needed to get help. He needed to...for a moment, Harold hesitated. His thoughts strayed to John, to their last conversation on the rooftop.

 _"Saving one life at a time seemed a bit anticlimactic. But then I realized sometimes one life, if it's the right life, that's enough."_

The big roar of an explosion made Harold sink to the floor. Harold's face crumpled in agony. It was not supposed to be that way. He had lost John forever now, lost the man who was so precious to him. Harold would rather he had given up his life for John instead.

Harold's eyes were slowly filling with tears. He looked at the blood stain on his vest. It was steadily spreading through the parts of his suit. He carefully laid down with his neck screaming in pain. He felt tired. They already saved the world. Nobody would care about them. If they lived or died, it won't make a difference for people around the world.

Harold closed his eyes in resignation. He didn't want to live in a world where John Reese was dead. His friend, his... everything. Because that was what John had become to Harold, his everything.

He felt his phone vibrating in his pants' pocket. He guessed it would be Sameen informing him about her escape and that of detective Fusco. Making sure Harold was alright and wanting to know what happened to John.

Harold couldn't talk. Not when the pain of losing John was so crippling. Sameen didn't process grief as other people, but he didn't want to be the one to tell her about John's death. Sameen had already lost Root.

Harold listened to his shaking breath. In his mind's eye, he could see John on the other roof, talking to him through his earpiece. It was not the way Harold wanted to remember John. He focused on John in their earlier years, his cheerful tone. Witty remarks, John's small smile and his sparkling eyes. Harold wanted to die with the image of John Reese being happy and content.

"Harold..."

Harold ignored the insistent voice near him. He understood why John didn't want Harold to drive to him, when he was dying from a gunshot in a parking garage. John didn't want to harm him, didn't want to hurt people by seeing him like that. Harold wanted to die alone, not with Sameen. If he could choose, he would die by John's side.

"Harold, damn it, look at me!"

Harold knew the furious tone of his friend. Sameen's default emotion was anger, sometimes simmering underneath the calm words, but most of the time manifesting in biting and vicious remarks.

He grunted in pain, as she ripped his vest and shirt open and jostled him. "It is alright," he whispered, so tired and content to give up.

"Why the hell didn't you go down? You were suppose to be there twenty minutes ago. We need to get you to the hospital."

"We did everything we could. Now it's time to leave," Harold's eyes were still closed as he thought about John. He could be with John again, in a few minutes.

"You're not dying on me, Harold!" she shouted at him forcefully. "Reese..."

Harold tried to stop listening the moment Sameen spoke John's name. The amount of grief and agony was unbearable. His throat tightened with unshed tears. He wanted to curl into the ball and finally die. Harold had already gave up enough for the humanity. He lost Nathan, his best friend. He lost Grace, his first love. He lost his colleagues, one of them Arthur, who unintentionally helped to build Samaritan. He found a new family for himself - John, Bear, detective Carter, detective Fusco, Sameen, Root. Joss was dead, Root was dead and now John.

John, who... Harold's body started to shake with cold.

"He's going into shock. I need the helicopter now. Where the hell are you, John?"

Harold's thoughts were muddled. He opened his eyes. Sameen looked pale, full of concern. He wanted tell her it was not a bad thing for him to die. It should have happened a long time ago. If Greer's men killed him several months back, John would have still been alive. The world around him started to turn dark, but few seconds later, the pain woke him up.

"Stay with me, Harold."

"I'm... sorry she died... because of me," Harold could hardly breathe through the pain, but he saw Shaw frozen with his words. "This war... caused us enough."

"Harold, don't do this. You'll be fine," Sameen mumbled.

"I don't want to be, Ms. Shaw," he watched her calmly. "Not without him." He closed his eyes and finally succumbed to the darkness.

Harold could on some distant level hear Sameen's shouts. He realized she was turning his head and stuffing something into his ear. He heard John's voice. It calmed him down. He knew that they would soon meet again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 02**

John opened the doors of a helicopter before it landed on the rooftop, and ran towards the exit doors, where he knew Harold should be. His heart was madly beating with fear. He never felt so much panic before.

Shaw was kneeling beside Harold on the stairs keeping pressure on Harold's abdomen. The blood soaked through all the layers of Harold's suit. The man himself looked dead. His ashen face, sweaty forehead and the unusual angle of Harold's neck scared John the most. Harold would never be caught in that position conscious. It would hurt too much.

"Shaw?"

"Take his upper body, watch out for the neck. We have to get him to the helicopter."

John didn't waste time with questions about Harold's health. It was severe. John knew that much, when Shaw ordered him to talk to Harold through the earpiece, but somehow it hadn't had a desired effect.

They quickly transported the unconscious man onto the helicopter's floor. "Can I do something?" John shouted through the wind and loud noise of rotor. He had crunch beside Harold and watched as Sameen dragged the first aid kit to herself.

"Be out of my way."

Sameen didn't have to shout. Her voice was calm. She pushed a gauze into Harold's abdomen with a deadly precision, quickly fixed it into place and started to cut Harold's sleeve with scissors. Shaw ripped it all the way up, took his blood pressure and then applied a tourniquet to his arm.

John logically understood her actions. Sameen needed to insert an IV and keep Harold's blood pressure with fluids. She never asked for his help. Shaw was a capable doctor and deadly calm under pressure. This would keep patients alive, a medic or anyone else would have panicked and hesitated to take action as fast as Sameen.

John walked through the long hospital corridors along with Shaw, Megan Tillman and the two orderlies, who wheeled Harold on gurney. The women used a lot of medical jargon, but John was a fairly intelligent guy and understood the situation didn't look good.

When they finally moved through the last door with a sign _Operation room_ , Megan put a hand on John's chest. John turned to her with a dangerous eyes. Before he could warn her to never do that again, the doors were shut behind Shaw and the others.

"Hey!" he took a step towards them, but Megan was again in his way.

"John, you can't go there," she explained calmly.

"I have to stay with him!" John replied angrily. They couldn't detain him from seeing Harold. What if Harold needed him? What if something happened and he wasn't there?

"You're a civilian, John. You can't go there."

"Shaw's with him," John mumbled immediately.

"Yes. She will be the one operating on him," Megan steered him to another corridor. "We can wait for her. Come on."

John looked at the door behind him, completely lost. It did make sense. He knew there were protocols in place. He couldn't break the rules. The security would walked him out of the hospital, if he tried something like that.

God, John just wanted to be with Harold. The man believed John was dead. Jesus Christ, that was cruel!

"John, she will come to us, when she's finished."

He nodded with a painful twist in his guts. In the waiting room, John sat himself on one of the plastic chairs with his elbows on his knees. He closed his eyes in prayer. Harold had to be alright. Simply had to, because John wanted to show Harold the world without Samaritan and the government as a threat to their lives.

"John?"

John flinched, when someone's hand touched his forearm. He looked at Logan Pierce with an angry scowl.

"Sorry. How is he?"

Logan probably remembered John didn't like to have his space invaded. John didn't like to be close to anyone in general. The nearness of another human being meant danger and his CIA training ingrained in his bones processed every touch as a lethal threat.

"Don't know," John whispered calmly. "He was critical." Thanks to his CIA training John could also easily hold in his appearance of fear. How did they find themselves in this situation? For some reason Harold just stayed on the stairs, kept bleeding and wanted to die, instead of saving himself.

John tried to picture his life from now on. They were finally safe. They could do whatever they wanted, but he couldn't imagine one scenario where Harold wasn't there with him.

"John?"

John didn't register he was on the way from the waiting room. "I need some air," he informed Megan through tight lips, as he continued to walk out. With fresh air came fresh thoughts of Harold's imminent death, that brought John almost to his knees. He couldn't breathe because of his panic attack. He couldn't live without Harold. The absence of the man from his life would kill John for sure. John couldn't spend the rest of his days with poor Bear. They would both grieve for Harold.

John remembered Shaw's face, when she told him: _"Gotta kill time somehow."_

He wanted so much to yell at her to stopped acting out, but it was her way of dealing with Root's death. Shaw was lonely without the crazy bird. John didn't want to go through the same feeling of loss, emptiness and hurt. He already lost Jessica and Joss.

John rubbed his face and took a deep breath. Staying out in the open didn't help at all. His place was at Harold's side. He purposefully strode into the waiting room with shoulders straight and stood patiently by the chairs.

John's breath was steady and his heart calmed. No matter what happened his place was by Harold's side. If the man lives, John would be there. If not, John wouldn't be there, he would follow him closely after.

"John."

He raised his eyes, when Megan had spoken. She indicated that Shaw was coming towards them. John calmly waited on what his friend would have to say.

"He flat-lined," Shaw told them angrily. "But I got the son of a bitch back. They need to monitor him, but he should be fine."

John's shoulders visibly eased. He nodded without words. John's place was by Harold's side, which meant he would be there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 03**

Harold's eyes fluttered. The pain in his abdomen was dull, but something in his consciousness didn't let him sleep. He knew there was some information he needed to know. In his line of vision Ms. Shaw appeared and Harold was disappointed.

"Next time you decide on giving up, I will kill you myself," she told him without any sympathy. "I'm turning the morphine off. You don't deserve it."

Harold carefully tried to move. The beeping of the monitor helped him to locate himself. Hospital. Why was he in the hospital? Did something happened? Harold tried to remember. Greer. He knew Greer had tried to kill him with killer switch in server room. He remembered his wound. Root... No, Root died a few days ago.

Sameen got him to the hospital. When did he spent time with Sameen? On the stairs. He was injured and Sameen wanted him to go to the hospital. No, not Sameen, she wasn't there. John was on the rooftop. John. The missile.

The monitor started to signal the change in his heart beat. Oh God, John. Sameen appeared on the stairs. She saved him. Harold survived and John…

"Hey! Hey! Harold!" she took his face in her hands. "Harold, look at me! Calm down!"

His lungs were hurting. He couldn't catch his breath. It was his fault John was dead. Why would that man go behind his back and made a pact with his Machine. It was not supposed to happen that way. Harold should have died instead of them.

"Shit! You'll have to sleep it off, Harold."

He didn't understand what was Sameen telling him, like the world was slowly leaving from him. No. It was him leaving the world. The pain disappeared. Harold's eyelids started to fall down. Oh, she gave him painkillers and something for sleep.

The next time Harold became conscious of his surroundings, he could hear first. His eyes didn't want to cooperate, but he could hear Sameen.

"Ok, round two. Come on, Harold. Look at me! Open your eyes!"

Why did she keep yelling at him? "You didn't..." his throat was scraped. Harold needed water. "...have to save me."

"Really? I saved your life and you complain? I should have let you die, you ungrateful bastard."

Harold opened his mouth and sipped a bit of water from the straw, when she brought it to his lips. It felt like a balm. "Yes," he finally whispered without a problem. Something in the room changed. In any other circumstances, Ms. Shaw would continue to harass him for what he had done, but now she was absolutely deadly quiet.

Harold slowly opened his eyes. The light was hurting his corneas, but what was this bit of a mild discomfort, compared to the death of their friends. He was acting ungrateful; he had wanted to die because John was gone, but it wasn't her fault.

"I'm sorry, Sameen," he whispered. She was looking somewhere above his head to the window with a face full of remorse. Harold understood, that if she hadn't saved him, she would have lived the rest of her life with regret. Her teammates would be dead. She would have had to stay alone with their precious Bear. "My head is clear now."

With a careful breath, Harold gathered his strength, as he now needed to break his unspoken promise of never lying to his friends and whispered: "Thank you."

Shaw put his glasses on his face. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Harold, I have to tell you something," she watched him carefully. "You need to stay calm. If you don't, I will have to put you to sleep again."

Of course, that didn't help at all and she could hear his heart monitor slowly rising in frequency. "How is detective Fusco?" Harold's inside squeezed tightly. Not him too. What about his son?

"Lionel?"

Obviously their dear detective wasn't the subject of their conversation, because she blinked at him in confusion and that went a long way in calming him.

"He's here few doors down. He had a surgery, but he's fine. Bear's with him now," Sameen explained.

Harold nodded minimally, he didn't want to aggravate his sore neck. "I will try my best to remain calm."

"When I found you on the stairs, there was a lot of chaos," she started slowly.

Harold didn't remember any chaos. He remembered perfectly clear the moment his clarity was then veiled with the knowledge of John's certain death and his wish to die.

"You went off the roof before John..."

"Ms. Shaw," Harold averted his eyes. "I don't want to talk about J..." Harold's voice cracked and his throat tightened. He couldn't even pronounce John's name out loud. It felt like his heart was squeezed in vice.

"Harold, he's not dead!" Shaw interrupted his grief filled thoughts, as she watched him like a hawk. "He was on the roof, but they didn't shoot him. Logan Pierce saved him with some hired help. John wasn't on that roof, when it was blown up. They were already gone in a helicopter."

Harold looked at her without any expression, but the heart monitor spoke loud and clear.

"Harold, he's fine. Trust me."

He so wanted to believe her. Harold tried to tell her to continue, but his chest was tight and he couldn't seem to breathe. There was simply not enough oxygen in this room. The wound in his abdomen was screaming in pain, as he tried to convince his lungs to function properly. Where was John, if he was alright? Why wasn't he with him?

"Reese!" Shaw hissed angrily, just as Harold's world faded away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 04**

John took three steps and loomed above Harold's bed. He couldn't believe how much had happened in so few hours. They saved the world and saved themselves. Harold was in danger, and finally he just received the news that Harold would be ok. "Harold, focus."

Their eyes met and without thinking John clasp Harold's fingers, that were currently clawing the bed sheets, and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "You have to breathe," he whispered calmly. Finally John could see a difference. Harold's posture relaxed. "Good. Breathe for me. In and out."

John's guts tightened because of the way Harold was watching him, as if he alone was Harold's only connection to the world.

"I will let you explain," Sameen told them with relief, when Harold's vital signs were back to normal and she left the room.

John gave the man a small smile. "Hello Harold." He didn't know what else to say. There weren't enough words to apologize for the confusion and misunderstanding. "We were on our way out of New York with Logan, when Shaw called you were nowhere to be found. You weren't picking up your phone, Harold."

John remembered very well the fear that spread through him, because he knew in that moment something had happened to Harold. "Shaw traced your phone's GPS location. Logan turned back and we went for you, flew you to the hospital, Shaw operated on you."

John conveniently left out the information about Harold's heart flat-lining during the surgery. He couldn't say it out loud. Not right now, when he was still raw from the fear and adrenaline.

"What were you thinking, Harold?" John whispered with desperation. He was aware this wasn't the time to stress the man. Harold needed sleep and peaceful surroundings to heal, but John couldn't help himself. "Harold?" John insisted.

"I think... I'm tired," Harold hesitated.

John could see him weighting all the options in his head. Normally it was not that visible, but thanks to the anesthesia and pain meds, Harold's reflexes were slower and he couldn't hide his reactions quickly enough.

"Sleep," John smiled at him again. There was no reason to put pressure on him, they had all the time in the world for Harold to answer John's questions. John turned and went to put a chair near Harold's bed.

Once John sat down, he placed his hand near Harold's thigh and watched him. Harold's eyelids were obviously trying to give in, but he was fighting them with every strength he could gather. "Do you want me to take off your glasses, Harold?"

"No," he kept his eyes steadily on John.

"I'm not going anywhere. You can sleep," John reassured him again.

"I will," Harold whispered groggily. He finally succumbed to sleep, but in a second he flinched and looked for John again.

John drew closer with the chair and covered Harold's hand with his. "I'm right here." John stared at their fingers, which Harold had intertwined together and held in a death grip. Harold's hand slackened with time, but John never tried to pull away.

John had an excuse for the nurses, doctors and Shaw, who paraded the room from time to time writing Harold's vitals and consulting in the corner far from John's ears. He didn't want to break his promise to Harold, but more importantly John needed to touch Harold for his own sake. He never wanted to go through the same fear for Harold's life.

I the time that he was alone with Harold, John felt absolutely content. He couldn't focus on anything else but the man in bed. They had so many possibilities now. They could do whatever they wanted. The government still hunted them, but they could easily hide. Without Samaritan on their backs the government would never stand a chance against Harold Finch's skills.

They could open a private investigations agency, and spend their years helping people. Harold could hack any system; John never had any idea which exactly, but he could gain back his money, build another Machine and keep helping the Irrelevant Numbers.

They could spend days working and afternoons walking Bear, going to pubs or simply walking in the park. John couldn't wait.

John turned to the doors, when he heard knocking. Logan's head appeared. "Do you think I can come in?"

John's happiness quickly morphed into annoyance. He would give anything just to be alone with Harold. He certainly didn't want to talk with Logan. The man had a special gift of always making John feel like he wanted to strangle the fickle billionaire.

John nodded anyway. It was the polite thing to do, because he saved them all today.

"I know you won't tell me the truth about what happened, or what you and the old man were a part off. I just wanted to know how he's..."

Logan obviously stopped talking for some reason and was taken aback. John watched his expression. He stared at their joined hands. For a second John thought about slipping the fingers from Harold's grip. He didn't care about Shaw or other people seeing him like this with Harold, but under Logan's gaze he felt threatened and on edge.

"Oh. So you two..." the billionaire blinked in confusion a few times.

John didn't know what to say to that. He held his breath when he heard Harold.

"Mr. Pierce, I assure you, my relationship with John is none of your concern, but I would like to offer you my sincere thank you for saving both of our lives."

"No worries, any time, old man," Logan mumbled, but John watched him still eyeing their hands speculatively. "Your secret's safe with me."

John turned his face to the window, hiding his smile, when he saw Harold leveling Pierce with a deathly stare. Harold would kill him if he started laughing in front of their visitor. What took John by surprise was, that through the entire conversation Harold still held his hand.

When Logan left, John faced Harold.

"You could have been of more help, Mr. Reese," Harold informed him imperially, looking offended.

"You handled it well, Finch," John teased, consciously ignoring the fact Harold's warm fingers were still in his hand and the situation didn't faze the injured man at all.

"Stop it," Harold smiled as well, but closed his eyes with a tired sigh.

"Are you ok?" John asked with concern.

"Always, Mr. Reese."

Harold's whisper of reassurance was so quick, John's chest squeezed painfully. He heard it so many times, he had stopped counting.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 05**

The first conscious thought in Harold's brain was John. His fingers automatically clenched around someone else's. His first few panicked heartbeats seemed loud in the hospital room, until they settled into a normal rhythm.

"Do you think you will ever manage to believe me when I say I'm not going to leave, Harold?"

Harold heard the teasing lilt in John's voice, but he couldn't very well answer truthfully, because he had no idea. He opened his eyes and again tried to move a little with his upper body. The knots around his cervical vertebras felt uncomfortable.

"Harold?"

Harold gathered his strength, closed his eyes in concentration and ignored John's concern in an attempt to shift his shoulders. The muscles hurt from his back to his chest. The dullest pain was situated in his abdomen. Another day in bed with an IV and he would be teaching himself to move again.

"Harold, what are you doing?"

He didn't dare to look at John, the ex-CIA agent had to be closer to him than before, because Harold could feel John's breath on the skin of his neck. He turned slowly to roll to his side facing away from John.

"I'm getting up, John," Harold uttered in concentration. Sitting up would be a tricky business with the abdominal wound.

"Finch!"

Harold opened his eyes and they finally settled on John, because John held him to the bed by his shoulders. "I need to move, Mr. Reese. We need to go," Harold tried to rein in the annoyance and fear he felt. He didn't want to feel helpless again. He already went through that phase after his spinal fusion.

"I know. Just wait for Shaw for a moment."

John could probably see the maniacal determination in his feverish eyes, because he didn't try to reason with him to stay in bed.

"What do you want?" Ms. Shaw opened the door, white coat nowhere in sight, with annoyed expression on her mouth. She was currently munching on the bag of pretzels.

"I need to stand up," Harold fixed her with a stare.

"Yeah, sure," she tossed the pretzels on the bedside table and slid her hand under his injured side and to his thigh. "Move," Sameen elbowed John out of the way. "Let's do this. You and me."

Harold nodded gratefully. He knew it would hurt. "Alright," he breathed shakily.

"Ok. Hand on the wound. Tighten the muscles. Hold your breath on three. Just a warning. You can be dizzy from meds, but more from your spine. You've spent a day in the same position. I'm not envying you your back right now."

"Believe me, Ms. Shaw, I know." He was more than dizzy on bad days and he regularly exercised just to prevent his muscles from cramping.

"I could up your dose of morphine. Megan let me look at your X-rays," Sameen whispered. She probably wanted to show him her concern.

"That's not necessary, but thank you. One?"

"Two," she pulled him closer to her.

"Three, " he finished and moved to sit and at the same time, Sameen pressed his feet down. The world was spinning, but Harold was used to the dizzy spells. What he wasn't accustomed to were the nauseating tilt of his stomach and the searing pain throughout all his spine.

He placed one of his cold hands to his neck and prayed to God the agony went away. He couldn't look around himself, he would probably weep like a baby, if he could see John's and Sameen's concerned faces.

Harold breathed through the worst of it. When he finally allowed his shoulders to relax in a different position, the pain eased minimally, just as the searing burn in his abdomen. He finally had his feet on the ground.

"Harold-"

"I'm alright," he answered John's unspoken question.

"Round two?" Ms. Shaw asked slowly. "This one will be worse."

"Let's stay optimistic, Sameen. I'm not weeping mess on the floor yet," he smirked and opened his eyes. Harold felt like he finally gained his dignity back. "Three," he did everything he was suppose to and stood up. He held his breath, tightened his muscles, he kept a steady pressure on the wound. The discomfort was bearable. It didn't stand a chance against his neck.

"I think I'm ready to be discharged," Harold announced calmly.

"Let's wait what your doctor has to say," Sameen smiled. "Hey, what do you know? She agrees," Ms. Shaw pulled out his IV. "John, help him with his clothes. We're leaving in a few. I will distract the others and steal some pain meds."

Harold felt relieved. He couldn't wait to be out of the hospital. He watched John quickly going to the wardrobe, grabbing his pants. John kneeled before him and they had the clothes straightened in a record time. Both of them were thinking the same, as John zipped Harold's hospital gown into his pants and helped Harold into his brown winter coat.

Harold pulled out his thick black scarf from his pocket. John took it from him and wrapped it around his neck so matter of factly, Harold blinked in surprised. John was very quick and efficient in his task. It probably didn't even occur to him how intimate the gesture of dressing someone up was.

When they finished, Harold stood frozen with John close to his body looking at him with calm expression. The strain on Harold's neck while standing was almost unbearable. Second later John took a step back.

"Ready?"

Harold averted his eyes. "Always, Mr. Reese," he mumbled and stepped forward. He could manage that, the pain was acceptable. They had an important task before them, they now had to sneak out of the hospital.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 06**

John stood by the window in their newest hiding place. The safe house originally belonged to CIA, but Sameen reassured them they were no longer using it. It was only her special place when things went south. John concluded that things were somewhere around proximity of south for all of them now, but generally they were now heading north.

Harold was currently sleeping in the bed in the small apartment and John stood vigilant and watched the only access to the building. Sameen went out to buy Harold a laptop. The man had to start somewhere and without an access to the grid, Harold was practically powerless. John still couldn't believe they were both here.

He almost asked Shaw to wait with their plan, and let Harold spent few more days in the hospital when he saw the agony Harold was in once he tried to move. Shaw prepared him for the sight of Harold standing up; " _It won't be pretty, and it would be better if you left the room."_ Of course he denied.

 _"You have to let him choose. Harold knows what he's capable of. If he gives the green light, don't stand in his way."_

John tried just to stay near Harold. He would never encourage him to hurt himself, but he wanted to be there in case Harold needed his support. For a moment, John abandoned his position by the window. Nobody knew where they were hiding. His constant alert wasn't necessary, but it was so ingrained in him after the last few months, that he couldn't resist it.

He silently padded across the carpeted floor to the bed and watched the older man sleeping. Harold's face looked different without glasses, more vulnerable. He situated his head between two pillows to ease the chance of his neck leaning to the side. One of his hands was protectively covering the wound on his abdomen.

"John..." Harold mumbled sleepily.

"I'm here," he answered automatically.

"Why are you watching me?" the older man whispered without opening his eyes.

Good question. John's heart gave a painful squeeze in his chest. Now wasn't the right time to answer his question truthfully. "You're a bit egoistic, Harold," he teased gently. "I was watching the fly on your pillow."

The corner of Harold's mouth lifted in a small smile. "Don't worry about me, John. I'm perfectly alright."

"The hole in your abdomen tells a different story," John replied without thinking. He was suppose to turn Harold's response into some joke, to keep the atmosphere in the room light and carefree, but he couldn't. He spent too many hours scared to death that he would lose Harold for good.

Harold squinted his eyes at him and blindly reached for the bedside table. John moved his glasses into his searching hand and patiently waited for Harold to look at him.

"What is it you want to hide from me, John?"

John's eyes couldn't leave Harold's even if he tried, but his tone was flat and without emotions. "You died."

"Almost." The other man whispered.

"No, during the surgery," he took a step towards the bed and froze. Sitting down was out of option, he would jostle Harold too much and looming above him when the man was confined in bed, that didn't sit very well with John either. But he controlled himself long enough to stay silent again. He didn't want to rile things up anymore.

"What the hell were you thinking, Harold! I didn't try to sacrifice myself for you to give up and die on the stairs alone!" John kept his tone even. He turned around when he saw the calm expression on Harold's face. He wanted to strangle him for just that serene expression.

John rubbed his forehead tiredly. This was not the time for the conversation. Not when he couldn't stay detached and calm. Yelling at Harold had no effect. John sure as hell didn't feel better. "You should..." he went back to the window. "You should be resting," he whispered with a sigh.

"John."

"You should sleep some more," John checked the entrance to the building. Still no one in sight, which was good. He texted Shaw to buy them dinner on her way back from the shops. He felt even worse for cutting Harold off like that.

John heard him grunted in pain. "Harold!" he went instantly to Harold's side and helped him from the bed, because the stubborn man had already sat up and put his feet on the floor. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm getting up, Mr. Reese," Harold breathed out, but didn't release John's forearm.

"Any reason why we don't let the topic be, and come back to it once you're feeling better?" John wanted to kill the man, because he knew very well what Harold was doing. He wanted to have this conversation now and wouldn't let anything stop him, not even John, who tried to diffuse the situation between them.

"I think we need to have a few words."

"I have to disagree, Harold," John slowly withdrew from Harold's touch, but didn't take a step back.

"You always disagree when I'm right," Harold stood his ground. "Also; you're always inclined to anger, when you're sleep-deprived. Any chance you would replace me in the bed?"

John's jaw dropped with shock. "Are you kidding me?" he whispered. The matter of fact tone Harold used grated on his nerves even more than the offer.

"I assure you I'm not."

"You don't care that you died!" John concluded. He looked at him and he was seeing Harold Finch, the man he knew all these years, but at the same time it felt like John was seeing him for the first time. He didn't know if he felt disappointed or purely stunned.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 07**

Harold squared his shoulders and didn't move under John's scrutinizing gaze. The absolute astonishment on his face made Harold's insides twist with apprehension. Maybe John was right and they could postpone their conversation, but he already underwent the torture of getting himself out of bed. He wouldn't give up the chance to resolve their situation once and for all.

"Why?" John asked quietly.

"I once told you, that sooner or later both of us will end up dead, actually dead this time," he met John's eyes, even though his neck protested. They were too close, Harold had to lean back and strain his muscles.

"I remember."

"I didn't take into account how that particular experience would feel, when it came to you," Harold smiled quickly, as he confessed the truth. The smile was gone a second later. "I lost people, John. You know almost everything about me."

"Ingram and Grace."

"Yes," the old wounds still hurt. The government killed Nathan in an explosion on a ferry and Harold had to protect Grace by leaving her. "What I couldn't have anticipated was, that you would become such a good friend." Harold felt the same painful squeeze of his heart when he said the same words to John two days before, as he was shutting him into the vault and saving his life.

He could see John recoiling slightly and shifting away, remembering the situation. Harold had hurt him deeply with his words. "In the end, when you tricked me with the Machine, and you were so far away in danger instead of me, I came to the realization, that you were the one person I couldn't live without."

Harold's eyes were slowly filling with tears, partly from remembering the feeling of losing John. A great deal was his discomfort of keeping his neck in the wrong position, but he couldn't hide from John and break their gaze.

"God, Harold."

Harold let himself be pulled into John's embrace. One of John's hands was protectively cradling his neck and allowing him to move it into much more comfortable position. Harold closed his eyes and sneaked his arms around John's waist with a relieved sigh.

"You know I can't let you do things like this, Harold. I would have followed you, if you didn't make it. Once upon a time, a jackass gave me a purpose, but I grew to love him more than the job itself," John drawled.

Harold's entire body relaxed. He carefully pressed his stomach to John's body and breathed out. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so calm, which was not a surprise. John usually meant safety and reassurance.

"You need to rest," John whispered tentatively.

"I'm resting right now," Harold muttered sleepily and in a moment he was rewarded by John's quiet laughter. He almost forgot how contentment felt like. Harold certainly couldn't remember the last time he heard John chuckling, let alone laughing. The last few months had been hard on all of them.

"Hey!"

Harold flinched, when he heard the accusing tone of Ms. Shaw from the door.

"What the hell are you two doing? He's suppose to be asleep, he was dead yesterday, John. It's a miracle he's even standing now."

"Ms. Shaw," Harold extricated himself carefully. "I assure you it's not John's fault."

"You're full of pain meds, so I'm not having the conversation with you now. _He_ should know better!"

It was better not to argue with Sameen if she was in one of her moods, but Harold steadily held her gaze to let her know that he disagreed with her.

"Fine, fine, do as you want. Rip your stitches out, bleed out, see if I care," she put the food and a new laptop onto the conference table and went to the bathroom. Doors slammed after her.

"That went well," John murmured teasingly. "Bed or couch?"

"Couch will do," Harold held John's arm in a painful grip, when John helped to situate him on the sofa. In a minute, Harold was moaning in delight over delicious Chinese take away. He raised his eyes, when he felt John's gaze on him.

"You have to be kidding me," John mumbled to himself, but Harold still heard him.

"Beg your pardon?"

John cleared his throat and pointed to the door Sameen went through few minutes ago. "I'm going... after her."

"To the bathroom?" Harold blinked in confusion. John would bother Ms. Shaw in the bathroom? "Why?"

"That was not her usual level of fury. Also I didn't need to hear you make that sound. So excuse me."

What sound? "John, please explain!" Harold couldn't turn around and follow him with his eyes, but he could still talk. "John?" What would Harold do to stop John from leaving? His mind was stuck on their default interaction. "Mr. Reese!" he raised his voice. "What sound?"

Harold breathed out with relief, when he felt John putting his hands on the backrest of the couch behind him. "I apologize. I wasn't aware..."

"Hm."

The skin on Harold's neck tingled, when he felt John lowering his head and heard him humming in confirmation. He was aware John never used that tone with him. Ever. Harold would certainly remember his reaction to it.

"Are we on the same page now, Harold?" John continued lowly in the proximity of Harold's ear and Harold couldn't do anything else than nod with a flush spreading over his face. The words didn't help at all. He tried his utmost to suppress the shiver of his body.

"Ms..." he cleared his throat same way as John few minutes ago. "You wanted to go after Ms. Shaw." Harold finally grasped what John had wanted to do before he called him back. He never felt more relieved that he was alone to shake off the effect John Reese had over him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 08**

John shook his head and knocked on the door. The easiest way to stop thinking about Harold, was to focus on Sameen. Shaw wasn't in the shower. She was nowhere near the toilet either. She was sitting on the floor leaning on the shower cubicle, holding the slip of paper in her fingers loosely.

He sat down beside her without a word.

She gave him the paper and continued to stare in front of her. John read the number. "Is it what I think it is?"

"If you're thinking social security number, then you're right," Sameen whispered, her voice sounded small.

"How did you get it?"

"The strangest thing happened to me, when I was heading to the electronics. The phone started to ring on the street..." she didn't finish the whole story. John could easily guess how it went.

"The Machine is alive. She stored a copy of herself somewhere. There are still Irrelevant Numbers," John supplied.

"Which means there are still Relevant Numbers as well and the government doesn't know about them," she added. "I could contact some people in CIA, work as an informant."

"You already decided," John understood perfectly, she needed to stay away from them. When Greer held her as a prisoner, she had to underwent simulations which were not good for Shaw's psyche. The only one making things better for her was Root. The woman on some level understood. John didn't know the extent of their relationship, but losing Root changed Sameen.

"Do you think he will hate me?" she asked nervously.

"It's Harold, we're talking about. He doesn't have a mean bone in his body," John nudged her shoulder gently. "Keep in touch."

"I will come back to visit Bear," Sameen smirked.

"Don't get yourself killed," John stood up and held his hand. Shaw allowed him to help her to her feet.

"John, he went through the difficult surgery yesterday. Harold needs to rest. I mean it."

"I will keep it in mind," John nodded and opened the door. Before he could say a word, Harold beat him to it.

"I hope you two won't keep any secrets from me. I would hate to follow your every move, Ms. Shaw."

"No secrets," Sameen answered calmly and without explaining, started to work on plugging Harold's new laptop.

John knew it had to be confusing for the man, but the one things Harold was more than good at was his patience with people. He will wait her out until she will be ready to tell him the truth. Once she put the computer onto his lap, John handed him the slip of paper.

"How?" Harold whispered in astonishment and that was the beginning of Shaw's explanation. With every word John would see the man fully understanding how the story would end for them all. Harold asked a lot of questions at first, but through the long talk, he shut himself off, until Sameen didn't finish her part.

"You can take Bear, if you like."

John saw how hard it was for Harold to utter the words. They were Harold's way of showing Shaw she didn't have to come back to them. He practically gave her a chance to live her life with Bear separately from them, because he felt responsible for Root's death. If she couldn't handle looking at Harold, then he wouldn't force her to stay with them.

"You won't get rid of me that easily, Harold," she smirked and clasp his shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid. I will be back in ten days to pulled out your stitches."

"Thank you, Ms. Shaw."

"Don't mention it," she waved them goodbye. "Call me, find that person's name." She said pointing at the piece of paper in his hand. "I have people to contact."

"Certainly, Ms. Shaw."

John waited for a minute to carefully sit down on the sofa, some distance from Harold to not hurt him. He couldn't stand the shuttered expression on his face. "She's not blaming you, Harold."

"She would have every right," he muttered back.

"If I remember correctly, Root wasn't in this war for you. She became a soldier and a protector of the Machine. You can't take responsibility for other people's choices. She chose to follow through till the end, knowing the risks. All of us knew them." John leaned in and put his palm on Harold's fingers and waited until Harold looked at him.

"The stakes were too high. You know that. We would have choose to do it again, Harold, even knowing the consequences. Samaritan had to be destroyed no matter the sacrifices."

Harold finally nodded, but didn't say a word, but he withdrew his hand. It meant only one thing, Harold disagreed with him, but didn't want to talk about it. John watched him focus his attention on the laptop. His fingers were working quickly on the keyboard.

"We need a base of operations," Harold stated calmly. "This won't do at all. The train depot is inaccessible, the library too. They were compromised. We need a safe place."

The only person John knew in the real estate business wouldn't be very well received from Harold. "I could call Logan and ask, if he knows about something we could use."

"I would like to be as far away from Mr. Pierce as possible, John. He's too dangerous for his own good," Harold raised his eyes to him. "I have a lot of work to do. We need funds, safe place to work and new identities."

"Agreed. And you need to rest somewhere between all of that," John needed to remind him the most important task of them all. Harold couldn't function properly without sleep.

"I think I know how to combine all of these together."

Harold smiled and John's chest could practically burst with warm feeling. This was how they started almost six years ago. Harold most of the time muttering to himself, when he worked on the computer and John on the other side of the earpiece listening to his voice, amused as hell, because the man had no idea he did it at all. "How?"

"The Machine," Harold was already lost in his world of code and numbers. "First we need to look into the National Register of Social Security Numbers and find out our victim's or perpetrator's name for Ms. Shaw. Yes. It's still as easy as ever. Oh, and the victor is one Paul Lamontagne, age 46, born and raised in New York, Brooklyn."

John already had Shaw on his speed dial and repeated the information to her, then he headed to the small kitchenette to boil some water for a cup of tea. They had a long night before them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 09**

The soft light from the lamp was illuminating the one room apartment, where Harold worked several hours. The world around them was surrounded in darkness. John sat in the corner of the same sofa, head tilted back and looked asleep, but Harold knew better than to underestimate his sleeping habits and John's training.

From time to time he allowed himself to take a break for a minute and watch John. John accepted the idea of helping the Machine without any hesitation. As if continuing their work was the only logical outcome. As if there was never any chance to change their destiny. The easy decision baffled Harold to no end. Somewhere around midnight, they had a conversation about their future.

 _"That's something I'm trained to do, Harold. There really isn't any other option for me, because I would follow you anywhere."_

Harold would continue his work with Irrelevant Numbers, but John's reasoning left him with a painfully tight chest and smile across his face. He returned to his typing on the keyboard, but after few strokes hesitated with an unfamiliar noise.

"Stay here," John was on his feet in a second with gun ready by his side.

Harold's heart pounded with fear. He tried to reason with himself and guessed who would be behind the doors. No one knew about their hideout. He would never doubt the word of Ms. Shaw, but obviously someone was trying to break in.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" John's annoyed words calmed him, until Harold saw the sandy hair of Logan Pierce, who shouldered his way around John.

"Hello to you too, John. Harold," he smirked at both of them. "Nice place."

"How did you get here?" John growled threateningly and went to the sofa. Harold saw the immediate reaction. He needed to be physically between him and any danger.

"Yeah, about that... you disappeared. I brought balloons and Get well card and you two just weren't there. So..." Logan turn to him. "You know, John wasn't in the good place at the hospital. Mentally, I mean. So I put a bug in his jacket. Knew he wouldn't leave you."

They should have anticipate something like that. Harold leveled him with a hard stare. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Mr. Pierce?" he asked frostily.

"I thought I could pay you a visit. To see how you're doing. Ask if you still have the badass chick with you?" Logan shrugged his shoulders.

"At two in the morning?" John was probably furious with himself.

Logan Pierce reversed every conversation with Harold into a battlefield, using everything he could come up with against Harold. He didn't have enough energy to be a part of Mr. Pierce's game. He watched John slipping out of his jacket and going over every square inch.

"Ms. Shaw is not here at the moment," Harold informed him coldly.

"Oh, good. She could totally kill me. How are you doing, old man?"

"Very well, thank you," Harold didn't react at all to the insult. He wasn't childish. It would only escalate the situation and give Pierce more ammunition. John thankfully found the small device, threw it onto the conference table, slipped out of his dress shoe and smashed it into pieces.

Harold's mouth tighten. He was not going to smile, even though the look on the billionaire's face was priceless. John put his shoe back on and went to his previous position.

"It's endearing how much you try to protect the cripp..." Logan didn't have a chance to finish the sentence, because John had him pinned to the wall with his forearm on his windpipe.

"John!" Harold yelped with a sudden move, dropped the laptop on the sofa, put his hand on his wound and with a grunt of pain stood up. The searing pain spread through his stomach, but he needed to diffuse the situation before John killed Logan Pierce in their safe house. "John."

"I always knew you're the kinky one," Logan smirked on John.

Harold ignored him and put his hand between John's shoulder blades. "You know what he's doing," he whispered silently. "I've heard worse."

"Yeah, listen to him, John. Or not. I'm good with either option. I always knew you would be a force to reckon wit..."

John obviously tighten his hold and cut off Logan's air, because the man started to turn purple in the face.

"I would suggest you refrain from trying to use words, Mr. Pierce." Harold sidestepped them to see John's face. Just as he was afraid, John was lost in his quiet rage and prepared to murder someone.

"John," he gently put a hand on his forearm. "He's not a real threat," Harold reasoned calmly.

John released the man in a second and took a step back, while Mr. Pierce slid down the wall, trying to catch his breath.

"Maybe that will teach you to not aggravate a soldier when you don't know how many hours he's operating on, Mr. Pierce," Harold nodded, when Logan whispered a hoarse thank you. He stepped into John's line of vision and caught his eyes. He could feel the tension rolling off John.

"I am alright," he assured him without breaking their gaze. It took some time, then John finally looked at the sofa and back to Logan. He probably concluded Harold had to raise to his feet by himself and it wasn't a pleasurable experience. "John, I am alright," he repeated. Reassurance worked a great deal better in helping John to get down from a combat situation, than anything else.

"You're leaving," John told Pierce firmly, grabbed his arm.

"What? No. Wait. I want to help. You two are obviously working on something big. I could help with the financial side. Come on," Logan got up from the floor. "Harold, tell him it's a good idea. You know how it works. You're a businessman like me. You need money."

"Not yours," Harold answered calmly. "Not when you can deliberately do something like that display of foolishness. Goodbye, Mr. Pierce."

After John throw out Logan, he went back to him. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Harold couldn't say anything else. The adrenaline of the situation numbed the pain in his abdomen. He had so much work before himself, but he wanted nothing else more than to lay down and sleep for a few hours.

"Come on," John carefully guided him to the bed. "Rest for a while."

"Thank you." At least John understood his needs.

"I should be saying that. Thanks to you, I don't have to think about hiding Logan's body."

"Yes. I thought it would complicate our intriguing time schedule," Harold murmured with a smile as John was helping him on the bed again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

A few days after the _Logan incident_ , what John was calling it, he helped Harold into the car Sameen obtained for them. To be on the safe side John never asked about the origin of the vehicle. He didn't want to explain to Harold how she got it for them. He could so easily picture Harold being against a ride in a stolen car. So far Harold hadn't asked. Maybe he didn't want to know either.

John complied with Harold's request and drove them around the town. "How long am I supposed to drive in circles?" John hated the slow traffic. "We could have waited a few hours."

"No, these are ideal conditions. If Mr. Pierce tries to follow us, we won't make his task easy for him. Try to drive us steadily in the direction of Queensboro Bridge on Vernon Boulevard, please."

"What are you hiding from me, Finch?" John gave him a small smile. He repeatedly checked the rearview mirror. No one was tailing them.

"You'll see."

After the hour long journey, John finally parked on one side of the bridge near a hotel's entrance. "Are we living in a hotel, now, Harold?" John couldn't hide his amusement. They had already shared a few spaces together. Library, subway depot and some of the safe houses, short-term hotel rooms as well, but on a permanent basis hotel was new for them.

"Not quite, John," Harold unfastened his seatbelt and slowly turned towards the car door. John had enough time to get to the other side of the vehicle when Harold needed help getting out of the car himself. Once they both were finally standing on the pavement, John left his hand under Harold's elbow.

"Let's go," Harold decided. They turned the corner around the hotel. John couldn't see anything other than the red terracotta villa on the other side of the road. It definitely was a historical building with an attitude. "Our new home?"

"Yes."

"I thought it was owned by people from the movie industry." John hesitated for a moment. On a sunny morning the building looked incredible with its red brick walls, flourished details and carved stone face. But by night, John wouldn't want to be caught near it. It looked like a horror movie haunted house.

"And I fortunately happen to know some people who helped me purchase it."

John saw Harold's beaming smile. He was really proud of himself for finding them this location. "It definitely has some style," John murmured. He watched Harold unlocking the chain that was hanging from the gate of the wired fence.

The fence was a good thing. John could easily install motion detectors and camera surveillance. He started to see building's perks.

"Yes, it has," Harold agreed. "The house has several bedrooms, office, basement with a lot of space for my computers and I am sure you will have enough space to hide your arsenal of guns."

"I'm starting to like it even more." One small part in John's mind pointed out that the situation looked more like playing house with Harold than creating a safe working space for them; John didn't mind either way.

"Also, the purchase was made under one of my aliases - Arthur Bellenger," Harold continued. "And there is the crucial detail that our friend Mr. Pierce doesn't know about it."

Logan being out of their lives was the best news John had received in days. "Well, I'm definitely sold."

"I already texted the new address to Ms. Shaw."

"Good. So, it means we're moving in right now?" John's calm expression didn't slip off his face when Harold eyed him with worry.

"Was it too presumptuous of me, John?"

In the big picture, having one house for both of them functioning as a safe house as well as living quarters was more practical than owning two separate apartments and another safe place somewhere around town for Harold's work. John shrugged his shoulders. "Not really." Practicality always won in John's eyes.

If someone entered the house, John would know its floor plan better than anyone else. He would make sure Harold had a safe room somewhere in the mansion, even if he had to built it with his own hands. John was sure a building like this must have a few hidden corners.

John knew he had answered correctly by the easing of Harold's shoulders. He didn't know how Harold could doubt himself. Of course John would be by his side. John looked around himself. It was true the neighborhood looked calm and safe, but most of the floors of the hotel hotel's floors across the road were higher than their roof. Not a safe thing in John's book. "We're leaving the shutters on the windows closed for now, until they're bulletproof."

"As you wish," Harold whispered and then he froze.

John watched him nervously clear his throat and make a beeline for the main door under the massive ornamented bricked door frame. John had to smirk. Harold loved _Princess Bride_. _As you_ _wish_ was a very famous sentence from a very famous movie; it functioned as a code for a very famous sentence instead - I love you.

He slowly followed Harold inside and looked around the spacious first floor. John didn't expect the open space where he could practically see through living room and kitchen. The room was divided by bookshelves filled with a lot of editions to read. At the far right corner a spiral iron staircase and railing led up.

Harold obviously had all his money back. "Bedrooms?" John asked calmly.

"On the second floor. You can take the stairs or the elevator. It's hidden behind this door," Harold pointed out helpfully.

John understood why Harold had spent so much time on his computer. He had previously thought Harold was communicating with the Machine, but no. He was trying to find a perfect place for them. And even though John didn't say anything negative, Harold still sounded unsure. Like sooner or later he expected John to have words with him. John didn't want to complain. Two separate ways out of the second floor were a security dream come true. "I'm going up," he announced.

"You can take any bedroom you like."

John didn't turn to him this time, but the corner of his mouth turned up. Two could play the game. "As you wish," he answered warmly and went to the stairs. He didn't stay to watch the effect the words had on Harold. The man deserved some privacy after all.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Harold carefully sat down on the sofa with a hand still pressed to his abdomen. He was embarrassed and bewildered by his own behavior. He hoped John wouldn't mention his slip of tongue. Honestly it still confused him how he could use a sentence as: _as you wish_. Things like _that_ didn't happen to him. Harold always took pride in being an honest and direct man.

Harold leaned against the sofa's back with a tired sigh. The past few days he had worked almost constantly taking little or no rest at all because he wanted a secure location for them. Harold was sure if John finally had a safe place to sleep without interruption, he would finally allow himself to relax.

* * *

The next thing Harold heard were the distinct sounds of John preparing tea in their new kitchen. He must have fallen asleep. "I am awake," he announced groggily.

"The second floor looks... nice."

"Yes. I saw the pictures," Harold yawned. "What time is it?"

"You weren't asleep long." John came into his line of vision and handed him a steaming cup and his painkillers. "The bedrooms are... spacey. The elevator is a nice touch."

Harold gave him a small smile. He sipped his tea and washed down the pills. It wasn't in his nature to feel smug, but in that moment he was very proud of himself. The house had looked perfect in the pictures. Every newly discovered detail in close inspection convinced him the house is absolutely perfect for their purpose. "Yes, I know all of that. It's a reason why I purchased it."

"I saw a dog bed for Bear and toys. You thought of everything."

Harold didn't know how to answer that. John certainly wasn't the type to usually pay people compliments directly. He knew the ex-agent. John was now unusually quiet. "Is something wrong, John?"

Harold held his breath and waited for the complaints. Of course John would have something to say. It was inevitable. Harold had seized control of their situation without consulting his partner in crime and assumed John would be alright with them sharing a house.

After several heartbeats and John's long searching gaze, Harold saw John's shoulders ease and the tension leave his body. The small smirk would probably be Harold's only answer, if he didn't insist. "John?"

"Nothing's wrong. I have a bedroom across the hall from yours."

Bedroom? Harold blinked in confusion. He hadn't thought about their sleeping arrangements so far. "I didn't choose a bedroom for myself yet," he mumbled.

"Yours is the first one on the right with with quickest access to stairs and elevator in case of emergency. You're welcome."

Harold acknowledged the information with a tilt of his head. Of course John would think about his safety first.

"Until you're healed, I'm sleeping on the floor in your room."

Harold blinked in confusion. John's tone didn't invite any arguments against his wishes, but he certainly had to hear wrong. Why would John… "Beg your pardon?"

"We're not discussing it, Harold," John sounded perfectly clear. "You're hurt. Until you're healed, you're not leaving my sight."

"As..." This time Harold stopped himself before he could finish his answer. _As you wish?_ His brain couldn't come up with nothing more original? He blinked as other words left his brain. _As you wish_ was a very appropriate answer in this case. In both meanings. Harold didn't want to complain, he was happy with John's suggestion. And he certainly wanted John to know he was very dear to him. "Alright."

"Good. Now what do we do with the Number?"

"I already contacted Ms. Shaw. She's handling this alone with her unknown associates from the CIA or other domestic government acronyms." Harold didn't choose his words wisely. He knew from the look of John's tension in his shoulders. Helping with the Numbers was John's job. He took his occupation seriously. John was not supposed to stay home and play Harold's nurse. _Stay home._

Harold's mind rebelled against that thought. "I am..." He didn't know how to finish his words. Tired of being scared for John's life? Petrified, that the moment he doesn't have John in his line of sight, something will happen to him? Horrified, if he thought about his life without John in it.

"Harold?"

Harold shook his head, confused with the situation and his own thoughts. "I am sorry. I am..." He had forgotten the effects of strong medications on his body. Why did he take those pills? He should have waited until they had discussed their new situation.

"Harold?" John made a few steps towards him.

"I am alright," Harold assured John and tried to focus his eyes on the man kneeling in front of him. "Just tired. No, not tired. Confused is a better word."

"Lay down," John helped him raise his legs up on the sofa. Harold could finally breathe easily, because John's fingers squeezed his palm and didn't let go.

"Don't go after her, John," he whispered with a broken rasp of his voice.

"I'm not going anywhere."

But even in his state, Harold could hear the word John didn't say out loud. _Yet._ He wouldn't go after Sameen this time. Probably because Harold asked him to stay or because Harold was too vulnerable in this state and needed someone to look after him. And that thought hurt. Harold didn't want to be a burden for anyone.

"You don't have to stay, John," he squeezed his eyes and tried to stay focused. Didn't he ask John to not go after Sameen a minute ago? "I will be alright. You don't have to worry about me."

"Sleep it off, Harold."

Harold felt John's hand carefully pulling off his glasses.

"And Harold?"

He opened his eyes with a squint, prepared to have John's features blurred. Harold held his breath for a moment instead, because John was very close–mere inches from his face–and perfectly clear in Harold's line of vision.

"I'll be here. Your job is to be here as well."

"Always, Mr. Reese," Harold whispered breathlessly.

"No more dying for me. No more playing God with your Machine. You and me helping Numbers, that's the end game. Imperative on _you_ _**and**_ _me_."

"Agreed," he said softly.

"Alright. Now go to sleep."

And Harold did. Not before he felt John rearranging himself on the floor near the couch with John's hand still on Harold's.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

John remembered the old days with the CIA, when his body felt tired and he was mentally at the end of his rope. Most of those moments were with Kara. His battered body now hurt almost the same way thanks to the sitting on the floor for several hours. His right arm had fallen asleep a long time ago, because he absolutely refused to let go of Harold's hand. The whole time he prayed to God Sameen wouldn't call for help.

John missed the days with Shaw, but he could imagine how hard it had to be for Sameen to spend time with them without Root. To tell the truth John admired Shaw for even waking up every day and functioning like a human being. He certainly wouldn't have enough strength if their roles were reversed and he had lost Harold.

* * *

The next day John was sorry he even thought about helping Sameen. He tried to argue with Harold when the older man decided they would be watching the apartment of their Number together. John didn't plan for Harold to go with him. He tried to change Harold's mind, but no matter the arguments about Shaw already having that job, Harold couldn't be persuaded and he still wanted to go with John. They switched positions with Sameen, because by Harold's words she must be exhausted after five days without proper backup.

"You need to rest," John repeated again. He lost count about how many times he had said it that day. They took shelter against the wind in a doorway of one of the buildings on the block of apartments. They were currently watching their number arriving at his doorstep on the other side of a street.

Harold had ignored him as usual. "He doesn't strike me as a dangerous man, John."

No. On the surface, Paul Lamontagne was an ordinary man keeping to himself. He went to his job every day from seven to three o'clock. He did his grocery shopping. In the previous five days he had only went to a pub on Friday night. He left with a woman and said person safely walked away from his apartment a few hours later, unharmed.

Harold was right, he didn't look dangerous. Yet, John's shoulders tensed when he saw the cautious look Lamontagne cast around himself while he stood by his door before he opened it up. That was not the normal behavior of someone innocent. Mr. Lamontagne knew someone could have a good reason to follow him.

John protectively turned his back to the street, stepped in front of Harold and raised his hand to the glass surface near Harold's head. The heavy fabric of his open coat masked Harold from being recognized. From a distance, John looked comfortable as he leaned on the building, seemingly ignoring his surroundings. He wanted to appear non-threatening. Preferably as someone who had eyes only for the man in front of him.

John did a very good job. His attention really was captured the moment Harold looked back at him. How did they end up so close to each other? Harold must have stepped on a stair of the entrance.

"Hi," John whispered huskily. The first thing that hit him hard was Harold's smell. He had most definitely used the soap John bought for their bathroom.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Reese."

Harold looked at him with amusement. John took a second too long to remember, what he wanted to say to this man. He was just unbelievably grateful to still have him standing here, alive, and relatively well before him. This close, John could still see exhaustion in Harold's eyes.

They shouldn't be here. John should, there was no question about it, but Finch, not so much, as Harold needed his rest. He still wasn't fully recovered. "How are you holding up?"

"Please, don't worry, John. I am alright."

"You still have stitches," John reminded him soberly.

"Only for two more days. There is no sign of infection. The injury is causing me some slight distress, but nothing severe," Harold assured him and then glanced around John's shoulder. "Shouldn't we be on our way?"

"No. He's paranoid enough," John drawled, not changing his position at all. He liked the idea of his body sheltering Harold from cold and vicious gushes of wind. "First thing he's going to do is look outside the window if we're still here. Just to be on a safe side."

"I will yield before your expertise."

"That would be a first," John deadpanned with a stoic face. He lived for the moments Harold narrowed his eyes and all his focus was on him. He couldn't maintain his face any longer. The left side of his mouth lifted up in a smile. John glanced at the glass surface because curtains fluttered on a second floor window. Lamontagne had obviously scanned the street.

"Let's go," John gently helped Harold down from the stair and onto pavement. He left his hand on Harold's forearm. He never thought about small things such as automatically accommodating his stride to Harold's pace. Harold never chastised John for going too fast or being inconsiderate. They just fit together perfectly.

"What are we going to do now?"

John opened the door of a small cafe, chose the best position for surveillance and helped Harold sit down in a booth. He made sure Lamontagne wouldn't identify Harold. "Now, we're on a date." John clarified with a smirk.

A young brunette waitress smiled at them. "Hello. My name is Meg. What can I get you?"

"Hi. Sencha green tea. One sugar. Glass of water," John drawled before Harold could even open his mouth and greet the girl.

"Ok. One sencha and water coming up." And she was quickly gone.

John quirked an eyebrow at the older man, who still hadn't said a word and only tightened his lips in disapproval. "Alright?"

John watched him nervously clear his throat. Then with hesitancy Harold whispered, "I think we should... talk." John's heart sped up. Those words never led to anything good. He silently waited for Harold to continue, but in that moment Lamontagne appeared outside his door.

John was on his feet before he murmured, "He's on the move." He put a hand on Harold's chest. "Stay here." This time he underestimated Harold's response, because the man squeezed his fingers, halting his departure and not letting go.

"John!"

John saw the wince of pain when Harold turned his body to him.

"I'll be back. Stay here." And for the first time John whispered the words that he had never let himself say in the past. "Wait for me."

Harold nodded and let him go.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Harold fished a phone from his coat pocket and read the text message from his Machine. Mr. Lamontagne wasn't a chemistry teacher. Harold didn't like the direction their investigation was currently going.

What he hated more, was that John didn't have his ear piece. They couldn't communicate. Obviously, Harold could give him a call, but he didn't want to expose or bother John.

"Hello Harold."

"Ms. Shaw." Surprised for a moment, Harold couldn't find his voice, but there was an important question that needed to be addressed. "Where is John?"

"On his way to some godforsaken small town I never heard of. We need to go. I'm your ride home. Bear's in the car."

"Alright." Harold left money on the table and carefully rose to his feet.

"How's the abdomen?" Ms. Shaw inquired, when they made their way to the door.

"Sore. Our Number purchased a lot of different chemicals today. I need access to my computer. What did you say the name of a town was?"

"Don't know. Don't care. I'm on babysitting duty with you," she replied sternly and with displeasure. Harold couldn't blame her.

* * *

Harold leaned back in his chair, squinted his eyes at the clock on the wall and sighed. It was almost midnight and John still hadn't come back. As much as he wanted to wait for John to return, Harold couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Sameen had left two hours ago because they hadn't found out anything significant.

Mr. Lamontagne had purchased a small cabin in a town called Bangor in Pennsylvania. He went there for a reason that no one knew. John informed them by text messages that he hadn't seen anything incriminating. Who would go to a small town almost three hours from New York City on a weekday? And why? Where were all the chemicals he had purchased?

Harold went to his bedroom, showered, changed into his sleeping t-shirt and shorts and finally lay in bed. He wasn't used to moving so much after his surgery. Now, if John would finally come home, his day would end perfectly.

Here it was again. _Come home._ Harold sighed. Their situation was almost comical. He and John acted like a married couple. Strangers mistook them for one on a daily basis. John had confessed his feelings for Harold.

 _I would have followed you, if you didn't make it. Once upon a time_ _a_ _jackass gave me a purpose, but I_ _have_ _grown to love him more than the job itself._

But their situation still remained the same. How could one person change the course of a relationship? When it came to human interaction, Harold was almost useless. He always depended on Nathan to help him reach out to people. His Machine found him Grace. It hadn't been easy to talk to her at the beginning. Now, it seems almost impossible to tell John the truth. They have a Number to focus their attention on, but Harold felt like every minute he didn't spend with John was time wasted.

* * *

Harold had to have fallen asleep because the next thing he was aware of was hearing John undressing himself in the dark. "John?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Sorry. It's me. Go back to sleep," he whispered.

"You know you don't have to sleep on the floor, yes? " Harold yawned. He wasn't conscious enough to filter his words. "There is enough room on the bed."

If he wasn't tired so much, he would have been aware of the sudden silence permeating the room, that John had frozen at Harold's suggestion. Except, he had already closed his eyes and fallen asleep again.

* * *

Harold stopped at the kitchen for his cup of tea. John was already awake, because a steaming cup waited for him on the counter. He took a sip, already knowing it would be prepared to his satisfaction. John was thorough in learning his habits.

What surprised Harold was the speed with which John sprung from Harold's chair at the computer.

"Sorry. Good morning. "

Highly suspicious. Harold sat down. "What time did you come back yesterday?"

"Around one. It took some time to drive from Bangor."

John still remained almost a whole room from Harold's desk, like he couldn't stand the idea of himself breaching Harold's space again.

"Anything suspicious?"

"No. I talked with Shaw. We thought you could track the chemicals and look through anything raising a red flag around that town. I will shadow Lamontagne this morning and I'm gonna switch around noon with Sameen. So, lunch?"

"Of course," Harold replied kindly, but the red flags John mentioned were now waving in his mind. John Reese wasn't a man who would be nervously babbling about his day.

"Great. I have an earpiece now. See you at noon."

Before Harold could answer, John was gone from their home. For a minute Harold stayed still, his fingers resting on the keyboard. Then with a tight lips, he opened the internet browser and looked through its history. John didn't have time to erase it.

 _Spine Health_

 _Spinal Fusion Sleeping Habits_

 _Healthy Habits After Spinal Surgery_

Harold quickly blinked in surprise. Oh. That was one thing he had never considered. As much as they always were in sync walking, strategizing and knowing what to do, it never occurred to Harold John would have questions about his injuries.

Harold switched on his earpiece. "Mr. Reese?"

"Miss me already, Harold?" John drawled in his ear and Harold's heart skipped a beat. He ignored his reaction and went straight to the problem.

"What is it you wanted to know about me, John?"

Silence was Harold's answer. Maybe he should have worked up to that question.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

John took a picture of Lamontagne shaking hands in his office with a customer, but the second Harold threw the bomb into the conversation, he had to close his eyes for moment to gather himself. He should have known Harold would find out. John was so preoccupied earlier with the amount of information about spinal surgery, he hadn't heard Harold approach.

Maybe it would be better this way, without looking into each other's eyes.

"You told me to sleep with you." John answered with a small hesitation.

 _"Beg your pardon?"_

Thankfully, Harold didn't sound offended, more like confused. "This morning. When I came back from Bangor. You told me to sleep in your bed."

 _"That part I remember. I'm a little hazy on afterwards, unfortunately."_

"There wasn't any. You fell asleep," John clarified with a fond smile.

" _And I still remember waking up alone. There has to be a_ _reason why_ _you declined my offer."_

John stayed silent. So, Harold really wanted him there.

 _"John?"_ the older man inquired.

"I wanted you awake for that conversation. There are times people can't fake honesty. When you're under influence, when you're tortured or when you're almost asleep. People will tell you what they really want, but with a sound mind, when they have a chance to think things through, they almost always decide differently, because they know reality can't permit them what they want." John hated the vulnerability in his voice.

 _"Did you find out what you were looking for on these message boards?"_

"No."

 _"What did you_ _want_ _to know, John?"_ Harold asked quietly.

"If it's possible to sleep in your bed." What if John slept too close and aggravated Harold's injuries. What if he had a nightmare and jostled Harold in his sleep. What if he unintentionally hurt him?

 _"Of course it is."_

"You have a lot of experience with it?" John countered quickly. In five years they had know each other, John was sure Harold never taken a lover to their hideouts. He firmly believed Harold always loved Grace and was faithful to his woman even from a distance.

 _"John."_ Harold sighed warily in his ear. John didn't know how exactly he knew, but after all these years, he could interpret every slight nuance of Harold's voice. This wasn't Harold's offended exclamation because they had breached a topic that was a little too personal for them. That tone suggested problems on the horizon. John's shoulders straightened.

"What is it?" Lamontagne's appointment for the day was over and he was now on his way from the building. John followed him to a parking structure. "He's on the move again." Thankfully they still used a car Shaw obtained for them.

 _"I'm afraid I found a loose end,"_ Harold started his explanation. He talked slowly, but his movements on a keyboard spoke a different story. John could hear his aggressive typing. It didn't looked like an easy day.

"What kind?" John continued their small talk and tailed Lamontagne's car to a highway.

 _"The woman from_ _last_ _Friday_ _night; she_ _wasn't a random conquest. She's_ _the_ _wife of Lamontagne's brother Carl, who's missing. According to local authorities he went fishing last month and never came back. They wanted to_ _rule_ _out suicide, so they searched a local lake, but never found a body. Case is still open."_

"Why suicide?"

 _"Carl was recently dismissed from his job in a construction company. He made a few threats to his supervisor. I'm searching for... oh."_

John's mouth tightened. "Let me guess. All the chemicals can be turned into a homemade bomb."

 _"Yes, that too. But Carl and Paul Lamontagne's are identical twins."_

"Carl's living in his brother's apartment. Using his credit cards, making a bomb, while Paul's at work and visiting his farm. Paul's the victim here. I'm tailing the wrong twin." John could easily put things together now.

 _"No. The Machine gave us his Number, which means Paul is in danger. Probably from his own brother. Maybe it's time for a slightly different approach. I have to contact Sameen. Meanwhile..."_

"I have a man to convince about his brother's evil tendencies. Keep in touch."

 _"Be careful, Mr. Reese."_

John's mouth lifted in a smile. They were definitely on a first name basis, but sometimes Harold slipped up and Mr. Reese made its appearance. John really liked these moments. It was such a default conversation between them – so familiar that it warmed John's heart.

Harold cared about John from the beginning. They had been working together only a handful of weeks when Harold crossed half of the town to get to John after he was shot by Snow's partner and bleeding to death in a parking garage.

Now, all John had to do would be confronting Paul Lamontagne and then to get back to Harold to finish their conversation. The day really wasn't that great thanks to their new information, but it could be managed easily.

John parked his car right behind Lamontagne and stepped out. He flashed his badge at the man. "Detective Stills, NYPD. Can we talk?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Harold watched the door of Lamontagne's apartment complex from the same cafe he was previously at with John. Only this time his companion was Sameen.

"When Lamontagne's out, you have to follow him!" Ms. Shaw grunted as she stuffed her face with a greasy burger. Her fingers were sticky and made Harold uncomfortable. Sometimes he was absolutely horrified by her eating habits.

"I assure you, Ms. Shaw. I can handle breaking and entering duties," Harold complained while trying to picture being somewhere else and not witnessing Sameen inhaling her food. His injury was almost healed. He could not bend without some slight difficulty, but that didn't limit his everyday life.

"Yeah, sure you can. But we both know it's not about what you can handle, but what John can handle. You're supposed to be out of harm's way. If you're not, he's going to kill me. If Lamontagne's patching together a bomb in that apartment, I'm going to be there and take care of it. You're following him. Understood?"

"Perfectly," Harold fumed still having enough presence of mind to assure her imperially. "Oh, what a surprise! Lamontagne is on the move. Excuse me." He hurried from the cafe and left Sameen behind.

* * *

Harold stared into the open bag Carl Lamontagne had left at the construction company and winced in pain. Not physical pain, but emotional. He already made a call to detective Fusco. The NYPD and a bomb squad were probably speeding through the city right that moment, but that didn't help in stopping the active timer. It was still counting down from thirty minutes. Probably to leave enough time for Carl Lamontagne to come back to his brother's apartment and disappear for good this time. With or without his wife remained to be seen. But that still didn't leave Harold enough time to get out of the bomb's damaging range. Not with his previous injuries still affecting his movements.

He switched on his ear piece. "John?" Harold asked hesitantly. He cleared his throat and continued, "Where are you?"

 _"On our way back from Bangor. Why?"_

"You may not be allowed into the proximity of the city's center. There are already barricades being put in place bordering the corridor."

 _"What's happening, Harold?"_

"A bomb threat at the construction company where Carl Lamontagne previously worked."

 _"Alright. Where are you?"_

Harold was aware of how much he was avoiding the question John had to ask. He just didn't want to answer. "Unfortunately, I choose the responsibility of shadowing Mr. Lamontagne."

 _"To the construction company?"_

"Yes." He winced because he knew the answer was going to scare John out of his mind.

 _"Get out of there, Harold."_

John's forceful growl made Harold feel even more guilty. "I'm afraid it's not possible under the circumstances, John. The police are already on their way. I have to wait for them to show them the way." He didn't want to clarify to John there was also a time limit before the bomb went off.

Harold patiently waited for John to process the situation.

 _"Please, get out of there, Harold. I can't be there in time."_

The helpless whisper broke Harold's heart. "I have already called Detective Fusco. It will be alright, John. I have to go." Harold paused before saying softly, "I will see you at home."

 _"No. Just... stay with me, ok? Leave the earpiece on... Please."_

The broken plea John whispered made Harold's insides twist in pain. "I won't be able to focus. I'm sorry." He quickly tapped his ear and limped to the entrance of the construction company where he should soon be meeting Lionel.

The good detective had already arrived and jogged to Harold's position in the doorway. Lionel quickly ushered him back into the building and barked out, "Show me!"

Harold tried to move faster than was possible with his limitations because in their case every minute counted. He was very aware of his body's limitations in situations like these. Harold never felt them that acutely with John Reese by his side. They just fit. Only now with Detective Fusco he knew he needed to move at least a fraction faster. Before Harold's gunshot wound and surgery there were days when he could move more easily, but that was not the circumstance now.

* * *

After Harold's actions at the construction company his body hurt. This time physically. His limp was more pronounced and his neck was on fire. His side took notice of the speed in which he had moved resulting in discomfort in his belly. When Detective Fusco had ordered him to go back to the detective's car so he wouldn't be in a way when the bomb squad arrived, Harold was only too happy to listen to the detective's suggestion. There was another small perk in Harold leaving; no one had the slightest chance of recognizing him.

Harold leaned back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes in exhaustion. He heard a commotion going on around him and assumed the cavalry finally arrived. Harold had every confidence the bomb would be defused shortly. He wasn't scared for his life. Being in harm's way was sometimes necessary in their line of work. Occupational hazard John had once said. Harold had done what he needed to do without any reservations but he still missed John being by his side.

The day had taken its toll on Harold's body. He was exhausted because the moment Detective Fusco got in the car and sat in the driver's seat, Harold couldn't pry his eyelids open even with a crowbar.

Harold still heard the detective's side of the conversation when he answered his cell phone. "I'm telling you he's fine; he's asleep, John! ... For fuck's sake! I'm not gonna wake him up just because you have some unresolved issues, princess! … I'm driving him back to you. Happy now?"

Harold mumbled, "Thank you, Detective." Maybe trailing after one of their perpetrators wasn't such a good idea. Yet, he had and yes; maybe now all he really needed was some rest. With that thought, he was out like a light.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

John crossed the carpeted floor of their house from one side to the other over and over again. He remembered all too well the last time he was this restless - when Harold's life was on the line. Just as he is today. Just as he is as now. Lionel had already told him that the situation was contained and the bomb defused; all in thanks to Harold's quick thinking. Even knowing that, John couldn't calm himself down.

John glanced out the window for like the hundred time that evening. Where the hell they were? He logically understood Lionel had to drive through town. Only darkness had fallen in the meantime and there was still no sign of Lionel's car parking in front of their house.

John couldn't forget all the information Fusco had passed onto him. The timer on the bomb had been set for thirty minutes. For God's sake, only thirty minutes.

John tapped his ear. "Where are you?"

Sameen answered immediately. _"Tailing the evil twin. Why?"_

So, she didn't know either. Harold was keeping them both dark about the severity of the situation Harold had been in. "Did he tell you why he's not tailing him himself?"

 _"Never asked. I'm not gonna listen to his apologies about not performing at one hundred percent. What's going on?"_

It took some time to explain what had happened with Harold to Sameen. The only answer was her creative swearing. John felt the same way. "Fusco's on his way with him."

 _"Ok. I'll see you two in the morning."_

"Keep me posted if you need anything."

 _"Sure,_ _dad,"_ Sameen whispered in John's ear sarcastically and shut down the communication.

John turned around quickly when he heard the key turning in the lock. He froze for a moment. There Harold was in the doorway, still keeping up small talk with Lionel. He was completely unharmed yet looked exhausted

John saw red. He crossed the room so quickly that Lionel had the audacity to protectively stand in his way, blocking Harold from him. "What the hell were you thinking?" John growled dangerously.

"Hey, Wonderboy, take it easy."

John probably should react differently, but fear left him raw. He didn't take the time to stop. He grabbed Lionel's hand that was dangerously close to John's body like the detective was trying to stop him. With two moves ingrained in his muscles and bones from his CIA training he moved Lionel out of his way and continued to his target.

John forced Harold two steps back towards the door and caged him against it. Harold didn't even try to fight. He stood there calmly, holding John's gaze steadily. Harold's honest, apologetic eyes only made the situation worse.

John's body started to shake with keeping himself in check and not moving. Every muscle hurt. His eyes traveled to Harold's lips and the temperature in the room rocketed to the ceiling. John had always felt a physical pull towards Harold when he stood too close. From the moment John had realized why and that he had fallen in love with the older man, he made sure that Harold had never seen it in his eyes.

"I'm alright, John," Harold told him softly. He placed a palm carefully in the center of John's chest. They could both feel his racing heartbeat.

This was bad. John's jaw tightened. He's never had to fight his impulse to kiss Harold this fiercely. He couldn't cross some lines. Not when he was this angry. Not when Harold still had stitches in his abdomen. Not when he couldn't control himself enough to know that he wouldn't hurt Harold in the process.

Lionel clearing his throat behind them made John try to take a step back. John blinked in confusion. His body refused to move; it was as if Harold was a magnet from which John couldn't turn away.

With a lot of effort, John finally moved back with his eyes to the floor and dragging his feet under him. With a minute shake of his head, John muttered: "Coffee, Lionel?"

"Yeah. That would be good."

John was glad when Fusco followed him to the part of the room that functioned as a kitchen. John poured the water and left it boiling on the stove. His whole body still trembled with adrenaline or lack thereof in his system. The moment Harold's mug slipped through John's shaky fingers to the floor, Lionel made a beeline to him offering comfort.

"He's fine." Fusco whispered, but John ignored him and propped himself on the kitchen counter with sweaty palms.

John automatically shied away from the hand Lionel wanted to put on his shoulder. He didn't trust himself within anyone's proximity. He had already shoved Lionel when he tried to get in John's way.

"Sorry," Lionel mumbled reassuringly, as if he understood John's behavior, when John couldn't even explain it to himself.

"Detective?"

John tried to ignore Harold's voice and closed his eyes. The voice didn't help to steady him at all. His chest was tight like it was not getting enough oxygen, his eyes burned and his body was still trembling. John was too raw to have any conversation. He was too wound up to listen to Harold's reasoning why he had to switch off the earpiece.

After all, the situation was John's fault. He told Sameen Harold is supposed to stay out of harm's way by shadowing Lamontagne. He insisted that Harold shouldn't step into Lamontagne's apartment, because it was too dangerous.

John flinched and froze when a warm palm settled on his lower back.

"Tell me what to do, John?" Harold asked. His voice full of concern for John. His touch and voice sent an electric current through John's spine. All John's willpower was focused on keeping himself still.

The question was so loaded with possibilities. He wanted nothing more than to grab Harold's hand, press him against the kitchen counter and kiss the man senseless.

"You should..." John faltered. He didn't even recognize his own low voice. What should Harold do? He shook his head to clear the fog that had settled in it and finally had enough strength to continue: "You should go to sleep."

John forced his dry throat to swallow. He said the right thing, but his chest hurt when he listened to Harold's retreating footsteps.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Harold was painfully aware of John's empty bedding on the floor. He dozed fitfully on and off throughout the night. Every time he awoke wanting to reassure himself of his partner's presence, he was alone. John hadn't slept in the bedroom with him all night.

Harold was wide awake at sunrise. He looked at the place where John usually slept and replayed their yesterday's conversation in his head. John told him to go. Maybe he shouldn't do as John said. Maybe it wasn't something John actually wanted.

"John?" Harold sat straighter on the bed when he heard a knock on the door.

"Just me making a house call." Sameen entered his bedroom without any other explanation. It took Harold some time to remember why she decided to visit with him. She was there to remove his stitches.

"Of course, Ms. Shaw." Harold dutifully undressed while she prepared necessary items for the procedure. Harold didn't watch her work. He was in capable hands. There was no need to assure himself that the wound was clean. "Is John alright?" he asked hesitantly.

"His usual growly self. Why?"

"No reason." Harold shook his head staying silent as Shaw worked. After she was done, Harold quickly dressed and followed her to the ground floor. John stood by the door, obviously in a hurry to go with Sameen.

"Morning, Harold." The ex-CIA agent greeted him with eyes somewhere in a vicinity of Harold's shoulders.

"Good morning, John." It was obvious that something wasn't right.

"You ready?" John addressed Ms. Shaw.

There weren't many times that Harold had heard him speak as if he was in a big hurry. The idea of thinking about their situation for a whole day until John's return didn't sit well with Harold. "I chose wrong last night, didn't I?" he asked John in the silent room. Another thing Harold didn't want was to speak to John now in the presence of Ms. Shaw but it was the lesser of two evils.

John only raised his eyes to Harold's and didn't answer in any way, so Harold decided to continue. "I chose wrong. You told me to go. I listened to you, but it was wrong of me to leave you alone, wasn't it?"

Ms. Shaw spoke up then. "Maybe I'm gonna go with Lionel alone today. Both brothers are in his custody anyway. You should stay here." She helpfully tried to find a solution for what was going on between John and him, but Harold saw the certain reluctance in a younger man. John didn't want to discuss anything. Maybe the problem was Sameen's presence or John's general unwillingness to discuss anything personal, Harold couldn't fault him for that.

"There's no need, Ms. Shaw." Harold straightened his back fractionally, hoping the hurt in his tone or eyes wasn't visible. "Mr. Lamontagne is more important than this conversation." He blinked a few times, averted his eyes from John and left for kitchen. Anything could be cured by a hot cup of tea. Harold should be occupied with finding evidence and clearing Paul Lamontagne's name anyway.

In the kitchen Harold noticed that broken fragments of his tea cup were no longer scattered on the floor. John must have clean up last night. In his past Harold discovered that no matter how much his fingers shook - from lack of sleep or unreasonable amount of stress - he could always prepare his tea. It was his default morning ritual.

"This conversation is more important than our Number." Harold was startled by John's presence which hadn't happened to him for several years. Usually no matter how much John tried to be silent, Harold had always heard the muffled footsteps.

He maneuvered around and carefully leant on the kitchen counter. "It looks like we're in a unique position. I asked you to tell me what to do and you told me to go away. I couldn't take a social clue if my life depended on it, John. I was never good with them. My longest relationship is with a computer. Please, don't expect of me to understand..."

John took a step closer to him. Harold could finally see the sadness in John's eyes. "It wasn't a twisted way to find out if you're going to stay with me, Harold."

"John," Harold started nervously, "I'm trying, but this... relationship is not simple at all. To tell you the truth it's probably the hardest one I've ever been in in my life. Not so long ago I was your employer. I should have never..." Harold halted to get his thoughts aligned once more. "I told myself very strictly that my affection for you would never cross the line, and yet... here we are."

Harold loved the moment when the corner of John's mouth lifted in a crooked smile.

"Your affection saved my life, Harold."

They both had saved each other several times, but Harold didn't voice his thoughts out loud. He didn't know what would happen to him if John died. He stood there patiently looking into John's eyes and hoped this was finally the moment that would change the course of their relationship.

"Do you see me as your employee?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course not!" Harold felt horrified with the idea and even more if John struggled with the same problem he had. What if John couldn't cross a line and take a step towards his employer? Harold understood John's concerns, his reluctance to make the first move. But at the same time he was too afraid to abuse the power he once held over John.

"You're not making it easy to stay away from you, Harold," John drawled while taking another step closer. Harold's world narrowed to his proximity.

"I never asked you to do that."

"Have you ever considered that sometimes I have to stay away to protect you from me? You saw what happened yesterday." John carefully put his palm on the side of Harold's neck and for Harold the world disappeared.

"John, I'm not afraid of you," he assured him confidently.

"Then you're probably the only one. Most of the time I'm afraid of myself."

Harold's heart was breaking with that admission. He didn't get a chance to say something because John crossed the small distance and leaned his forehead to Harold's. After a few seconds that felt like a lifetime with nothing happening, he glanced nervously in John's eyes.

"John, are you waiting for my permission?" Harold asked curiously.

"Not really," the younger man drawled lowly. "Just enjoying myself."

Harold gave him a small smile. "Oh. Well, carry on then." He had waited years for a kiss from John Reese; he was certain a few seemingly never ending minutes wouldn't kill him. Even if it felt like it might.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

John didn't lie. He hadn't waited for Harold's permission. He just wanted to bask in the moment. Kissing Harold was inevitable. John felt ready, but with their chance suddenly here, he didn't want to screw things up between them.

A pleasant heat simmered under John's skin. He was absolutely sure that he had himself under control now. His lips descended chastely on Harold's just to taste the waters and involuntarily spread into a smile. A myriad of different kisses played behind John's closed eyelids. Especially the ones he had to share in the name of his job. Every one of them led him into this moment with Harold, the man he knew from inside out.

John understood Harold's principles, his moral compass, his heart. He carefully placed his other palm on the small of Harold's back and drew him closer. Their kiss proceeded to a series of little pecks, until Harold halted John's breath when he bit into John's lower lip and gently pulled. They both froze.

John backed away slightly, licking his abused lip. "I thought we're taking things slow," he whispered hoarsely.

"We are, but I'm also aging here, Mr. Reese. It's not on my to-do list to die before being properly kissed by you," Harold replied with an amused smile.

"We wouldn't want that," John snickered in return. His fingers slowly traveled to the back of Harold's neck caressing the scarred skin there; Harold involuntarily shivered under his ministrations and closed his eyes.

"Neck's ok?" John asked softly. He noticed the slight catch in Harold's breathing. The older man nodded fractionally without looking at him. John decided he had tortured them both long enough; he leaned closer and kissed Harold again. This time with a bit more insistence.

Harold's soft lips opened under his and John pressed him to his chest. In every fantasy John had about their kisses, he had never considered that Harold would touch him back. That was the main reason he flinched when Harold unexpectedly grabbed for John's hips.

"You alright?" Harold mumbled against his mouth.

"Yeah," he breathed out and mashed their lips together again. John was ok. He just hadn't calculated the effect Harold's hands would have on his body. He always knew that if the time would ever present itself that he would be kissing Harold, his body and emotions would be all over the place. It was inevitable, but he had never imagined how much their past would affect him in that moment.

When John finally had Harold in his arms, it was like the last domino tipping over the carefully crafted line. He remembered all those close calls throughout their years. The fear of never having the chance to get Harold back from Root. Harold's acceptance when he had to swap places when Greer held Grace hostage. The terror when John didn't have even a small amount of time with him before Harold was kidnapped by Vigilante group. Finally the months they were apart, because Samaritan was online and their final battle against the all-knowing AI.

John took a step forward and pressed the older man against the kitchen counter just as he wanted the previous day. The kiss progressed from curious exploration to erratic and hungry in a heartbeat. John listened to Harold's breathless moans. He was aware of Harold's fingers digging into the skin of his back holding him fiercely, but John still didn't feel close enough.

Without thinking John tightened his hold on Harold's waist and sat him on a counter, temporarily dislocating their lips in a process and forcing his way into the space between Harold's opened knees. John panted into Harold's face.

"Oh dear." Harold gulped some needed air.

John backed away slightly, licking his parched mouth and shaking his head. "You... alright?" he asked guiltily. That behavior was a bit too reckless. Harold was still recuperating from his injury. John searched his gaze for any amount of pain or discomfort, but all John saw was the small private smile he fallen in love with through their years together helping Numbers.

"Certainly."

"We got... a bit carried away." It would have sounded better if John was able to hold a conversation without being out of breath.

"You could say that," Harold agreed.

"Sure you're alright?" John carefully caressed Harold's abdomen where the stitches recently were.

"Yes. But I will need help going down." Harold smirked.

"Sorry about that," John cleared his throat and tried not to smile while assisting Harold back to the floor. He didn't release him from his embrace. Not yet. "Any other items on your to-do list before you die?"

This time Harold gave a coy smile that filled John with warmth. "Maybe." He answered John's question. "Unfortunately, I have a job to do first. Paul Lamontagne can't be held responsible for the actions of his own brother."

That made sense. They have a Number to take care of. "Yeah. I should... help Shaw." John remembered his previous plan for the day. If the brothers were both in the custody, Finch would need to do some serious hacking to find enough evidence against Carl and show the police that Paul was innocent.

"You should probably visit Carl's wife. The Machine didn't give us her Number, but she could be an accessory and knew about his plan. After all he's still her husband."

John nodded. Harold's suggestion made sense. "Alright." He finally took a step back from the older man, kissed him on a cheek and went to the door.

"Be careful, John."

"Always, Finch," John grinned. He couldn't remember the last time he was so happy and content. It was so long ago that it felt like it was in a different lifetime.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Harold worked endless hours going through security features and countless databases until he could finally say he had put together enough evidence to show Paul Lamontagne's uncomplicated life. Throughout the entire search he left his communication channel with John open, listening to his partner's witty remarks about Rachel Lamontagne's life. Most of the time Harold heard nothing more than John's breathing and that was enough.

After a few minutes of silence other than the sound of John's breathing, Harold asked, "Are you there, John?"

While waiting for a response, Harold picked up the thick file in which he had placed all the pages of the evidence that he had gathered and reached for his coat.

"Always Finch," John answered as Harold made to leave the house.

"I am taking the evidence I have on Paul Lamontagne to Detective Fusco," Harold told his partner as he closed the door.

"We'd talked about that, Finch." John drawled his answer while seemingly not giving any hints about his displeasure, but Harold still heard the unspoken intonation. They had worked so many years in a certain way that they could easily read each other's minds.

"You're otherwise occupied, John. I can be there and back in a few hours." _If the traffic permits it,_ he added subconsciously. Harold was grateful for the morning rush hour which thankfully had ended several hours before. "I'll be careful."

"Alright. Leave the channel open." John advised him. It was a bit too excessive, but Harold knew better than to argue his point. If John would be calmer listening to his every step, Harold was only happy to oblige him.

"Certainly, John."

* * *

Harold changed his mind about leaving the comms open quickly once he heard John talking with Carl Lamontagne's wife. The atrocious woman had the audacity to flirt with John. Rachel Lamontagne turned every single one of John's questions into sexual innuendo. When she shamelessly asked if John was free that evening, Harold had enough. He couldn't stay quiet any longer.

"Excuse me!" Harold couldn't believe her outrageousness. "Of course you will be occupied, Mr. Reese! With me! This is hardly respectful behavior! Mr. Reese..."

 _"Sorry, I'm spoken for."_ John drawled calmly on the other side of their connection, ignoring Harold's tirade.

Of course John was spoken for!

Harold stopped walking in his track on the street on his way back to the car. The matter of fact tone of John's words had a halting effect on him. He had heard John excusing himself throughout the years in similar fashion. Harold always assumed John was referring to Jessica, or Detective Carter. He was convinced John had some kind of standing arrangement with Ms. Morgan. It hurt knowing these details and Harold tried to stay away from John's personal life as much as their safety could permit it.

Harold didn't pay attention to the rest of John's conversation. He walked to the nearest park and sat on a bench overlooking the playground.

Most of the times Harold tried to not think about the long years he had together with John. He had consciously ignored his jealousy because he had no right to it. Harold had erased the years when he wanted nothing more than for John to come back to the library after he was treated in a hospital by Megan Tillman. The doctor was another one of John's friends who helped John every time he was unable to treat his wounds by himself. John made it a point of not seeing Harold when he was physically injured.

Harold remembered very well how much it hurt the first time John didn't seek him and instead went to the ER after Megan.

 _"Harold, where are you?"_

The insistent tone of John's voice woke him up from his memories. "On my way back from the precinct," Harold answered softly, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of those memories.

 _"What happened?"_

Again, John was concerned. Harold wasn't doing a good enough job of concealing his mood. "Nothing unusual. Everything is as it should be."

 _"You stopped walking. Are you alright?"_

"Yes, John." Harold had to smile for a second. You could erase the agent from the CIA, but you could never erase the CIA from the agent. "I stopped for a moment in a park. It's a beautiful day."

 _"Ok. Back to our Number. False alarm. She didn't know about_ _her_ _husband's plan."_

"I would rather not talk about Mrs. Lamontagne," Harold informed John imperially. Their work had been finished with Harold handing over the evidence to Detective Fusco. John had tied up that last loose end. Harold planned to assure himself later that Paul Lamontagne was indeed released from custody and his brother Carl properly charged, but he didn't want to talk or think about Rachel Lamontagne again. Ever.

 _"Jealous much, Finch?"_

And here it was - John's amused, flirty comeback. "As a matter of fact, yes," Harold said sadly. Harold's eyes never left the playground before him. He remembered his younger years when he was jealous of Nathan. His best friend had had so many other friends and they had so little time together. Harold had learned to live with his loneliness.

When the Machine found him Grace, it wasn't easy for Harold to strike a conversation with her. They dated. Harold wanted to tell her the truth about himself. As much time as Grace had spent on painting and meeting with other artists, Harold never felt like he needed to compete for her attention.

John was different from the beginning. As the months progressed and Harold found himself falling in love, he had felt that loneliness even more acutely. He wanted to spend all his time with John.

"You don't have to be."

Harold was surprised when John sat beside him. "How..." It was pointless to even ask. Of course John would find him.

"I breached the space/time continuum," John smirked. "Why are we here?" he asked in a different tone that Harold knew very well. It meant John would always be by Harold's side, even if he couldn't understand the reasoning for Harold's actions.

"For a bit of reminiscence." Harold gave him a small smile and looked away.

"Aren't we supposed to be on our way home?"

Harold smiled softly. _Home._ Yes, it was true that their previous years together weren't easy, but thankfully they still had a future ahead of them. He stood up with more energy than John could anticipate because the ex-agent didn't have time to help him up.

Harold looked into John's eyes. He wanted to talk to John about his feelings, but a busy park wasn't the right place. This time, he straightened his back fractionally and very consciously whispered: "As you wish."

Harold expected the broad smile on John's face and was delighted as John rose to his feet, put a hand on Harold's lower back and stirred them in the direction to where Harold had parked their car.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

John navigated the New York traffic with an ease born from experience. They were back to their house in no time. He dutifully checked the door and was surprised by Sameen waiting for them.

"Ms. Shaw?"

Sameen didn't have to say a word. The over-excited dog did all the talking for her. John was only glad she decided to pay them a visit, because Harold missed Bear like crazy.

"The dog's yours for a few days. Keep in touch and call me if you need any help with the Numbers," she nodded in their direction and left a second later.

John couldn't get enough of Harold playing with Bear, rubbing his belly. It had been a long time since he saw him that happy. Bear and well, Harold too.

After several long minutes, he decided to go for some food. "Hungry, Harold?"

"I wouldn't oppose to some takeout." The older man looked back at John with a smile, "but don't go far away."

It warmed John to know Harold wanted him close. Even better, Harold's concerns were finally giving him the opportunity to say with an earnest expression on his face: "As you wish."

As John expected Harold froze, still kneeling by Bear. His radiant smile transformed into one, that John in all their years together, called "his". Their long gaze was interrupted by Bear, who licked the side of Harold's face, happily leaving slobber all over the man.

"Bear!" Harold chastised the dog, tone offended. "We talked about this."

John had to look away because it was too cute. Who would ever guess he would find Harold Finch cute? Certainly not him. "I'm just going to the hotel restaurant across the road. I'll be right back."

* * *

It didn't take John very long to be back with two bags full of their dinner. He had expected Harold to be in his bedroom, but the man was steadily typing on the keyboard behind his computer. It looked like he didn't even know John was back in the house.

John prepared the utensils, took out every container full of wonderfully smelling dishes and went to Harold's chair.

"Shouldn't you be in bed resting?" John asked into the man's ear, lightly pressing his cheek to Harold's.

"I'm updating several of our aliases for future use if necessary." Harold answered him seemingly distracted, but for a brief moment he leant into the innocent contact.

Well, that meant John had to use another strategy. "Alright. Is this work time sensitive?"

Harold halted in typing, frowned and carefully turned his upper body in John's direction. "Not at the moment, no."

"Which means we can eat?" John pointed to the set table.

"Oh. Of course."

John had his answer. Harold hadn't heard him when John arrived back, he was too engrossed in his work and felt secure. The realization of the fact made John's chest warmer. He helped Harold to his feet and they sat opposite each other, enjoying the silence.

John debated with himself if this was an ideal time to ask Harold why he looked so sad in the park, but it didn't sit well with him. He didn't want to force Harold into a spot light. He respected Harold's right to have his privacy. Maybe he was thinking about Grace in that moment. And truth be told John didn't want to think about Harold's previous fiancé.

After dinner was finished, John threw away empty containers while Harold sat back down behind his computer. John waited for a second, then shook his head with a fond smile. What had he expected? That they would somehow magically change their routine after all these years? Sometimes he hated his years with CIA, but other times he was thankful for them because it gave him another idea of how to approach Harold.

John fixed a cup of tea and put it near Harold's hand, while simultaneously placing a palm carefully on Harold's neck. "I'm gonna take a shower. Don't work too late." He didn't want to overdo it with a kiss. A hand on Harold's neck was enough for the older man to hesitate a second in his typing.

His words had the desired effect John was waiting for. Harold didn't go back to his work. He sat still behind his computer and listened to John's retreating footsteps.

* * *

John wasn't one hundred percent sure Harold would wait for him in Harold's bedroom. One way or the other John felt content. Harold would either go to find him in his room or later tonight in his bed, asleep and he would figure out that their relationship slightly changed its course.

John slipped into his shorts and threat-bare T-shirt and finally exited the bathroom. The older man was precariously sitting on the edge of his bed. What John couldn't understand was the air of sadness around him.

"I have loved you a long, long time." Harold raised his eyes to John's.

John didn't need any other words. He slowly approached him and kneeled in front of him. "You know I love you too, Harold."

John couldn't say anything else. He hadn't loved Harold from the beginning. It had taken him a long time to trust his secretive employer. John was sometimes ashamed of how long it had taken for Harold to earn John's respect, but when he did John was absolutely sure he knew Harold enough. Enough that John had gradually fallen in love with him more and more each day.

John stayed silent, when Harold continued.

"I didn't know what to do. How to hide it from you. You are sometimes too observant and I didn't want our life to be any more complicated, so I pushed you away."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Even though John remembered the times when Harold steadily declined all of his invitations. It didn't matter if it was for takeout, dinner at the restaurant or cinema. Harold always had more work to be done. When John suggested he would bring some tea or coffee, Harold claimed other meetings John didn't need to know about.

Harold cleared his throat. "I tried to stay away from your personal life. Act like I didn't see..." Obviously it was a touchy subject for Harold and he was so overwhelmed by his emotions that he couldn't even continue.

CCTV. Harold's Machine had eyes everywhere.

John never made a big spectacle of himself with women. He and Zoe had at some point in time a sort of arrangement, but what John finally understood was that Harold knew about someone else. Holly, the flight attendant. Harold came after him to Italy. He sat at the restaurant in front of Holly's apartment building.

"Harold..." John's eyes guiltily shifted to the floor.

"I understand. Truly."

But John couldn't stay quiet any longer. "I loved you. Even back then. I knew we were too close sometimes. We were more like friends than colleagues. I knew you were pulling away and I let you. Relationships complicate life. This one could have easily destroyed all our good work." And wasn't it ironic, that John needed a purpose in his life more than he needed an intimacy with a man he loved.

"I stopped going to the library when I realized I couldn't keep my hands off you. I couldn't even imagine a second in which you would treat my injuries because I wanted you too much. I was a monster doing a good work and I selfishly wanted to continue that work to keep myself sane," John whispered apologetically.

"You're a good man, John." Harold readily objected.

"You know I'm not. You read my file," he smiled. John's smile disappeared the moment Harold took his head in his palms.

"You are a good man!"

This time Harold put more conviction into his words, but John continued his previous thoughts. "You said it yourself, sooner or later one of us is going to end up dead. I was alright with that person being me. I knew I couldn't survive losing you, so I thought staying away would be the effective solution. You know the saying. Out of sight means out of mind."

"But not out of heart."

"No," John gave him a sad smile. "After Vigilance... we didn't have any time and had to separate because of Samaritan. I knew then that your life meant more than all of our work. I needed you near me. You were the only constant in my life and you were gone. I would do anything just to stay with you, Harold."

John hesitated for a moment. "You have a right to go back to Grace and lead a life with her. You had dreamed about it all those years. I would understand. You don't have to stay here. I promise you, I will always stay. In any capacity." John held his gaze steadily with a madly beating heart.

"Mr. Reese, are you insinuating that I should abandon you? Do you think that going back to Grace would make me happy?" Harold asked sternly.

John didn't have answer for that.

"In all these years I have only one policy. To never lie to you. So, you should know that I'm telling the truth when I say I would never under any circumstances be happy with Grace again. Content and in peace most definitely, but happy not so much. That privilege belongs to you now."

John kissed him then, because he needed to know what the smile on Harold's face tasted like.

 **THE END**


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